A Love Story from the Heart

I’m not as steady in my old age. I usually do pretty good getting Gwen around, pumping blood throughout her body and ensuring my sister-organs have plenty of oxygen and nutrients. But every now and then, of late, I flutter or ‘sputter.’ I suppose being lighthearted about the things we can’t change is the best way to make what could be unpleasant not-so-bad.

As we lay here listening to the heart monitor’s incessant beeping, tracking my every move, I only wish everyone would stop worrying about me. I’m quite the emotional soul, and all this attention makes me anxious.

Gwen’s gaze falls to the window. We can’t see much beyond the brilliant blue sky. At least we can look at all the sweet cards rowed up on the sill from loved ones and friends. Gwen smiles at the sight. The warmth of her emotions warm me as well, and I can’t help but reflect on that most wonderful feeling of feelings.

LOVE

The thing that has incited the procreation of countless generations of human life, the instigator of innumerable stories, and even the root of war and death. Surely, it is the most powerful of emotions—inspiring hope and joy.

Can I recall the first time I felt the pang of love? Ah, yes! One of my earliest memories, stemming back before even Gwen’s memories begin.

Only about four and a half months into gestation, Gwen’s hearing had developed enough to hear her mother’s heartbeat for the first time. I’d already begun beating weeks earlier, but that initial sound both startled and excited me. It felt familiar, like it spoke to me, in my own language—a language of thumps which I was just getting the hang of. Louder and not so quick as me, this heart was sure and strong and full of warmth. As I grew in my infancy, it taught me rhythm in conjunction with emotions. Meanwhile, I explored my own beat as Gwen’s body grew and she embraced physical movement.

At about six months in the womb, Gwen’s growing auditory system finally allowed us to catch patches of her mother’s voice—it was the voice of the all encompassing heartbeat. The one that provided us with continued life as we grew, and enveloped us in tender care. Comforting in nature, I would patter softly with love whenever she spoke, laughed, or cried.

Once Gwen finally entered the world, a plethora of new things to excite the senses inundated us—some wonderful, and some not so great. But Mother’s safe arms and gentle voice reassured us that things would be okay. As baby Gwen laid upon her mother’s chest, that familiar heartbeat called out to me. “Thump, thump, thump. I love you baby.”

And in return, I’d call back in my small, quick voice, “Beat, beat, beat. I love you!”

Living soon thrust Gwen and I into a rollercoaster of love and hate relationships. New experiences made me quicken everyday. Food, music, color, textures, and fragrances sent us either into stimulation overload or a calming, restful state. Dancing, school, family, and friends—each had their own pulse. I loved it all!

As time passed and realizations of the world and relationships changed mindsets, love matured and transformed. A more solemn throb found its way into my being when I learned to miss those I loved. Sunsets and the wonders of the world made me swell with appreciation. The call to serve the nation we love gave us a thunderous purpose and pride of patriotism I hold dear even now.

Just when I thought I’d experienced all the love I could, a fire unlike any other compelled the blood to flow with great speed through my valves. Oh, there’d been cute boys who set me aflutter before. But this was different. The deep throb in my soul when he kissed Gwen the first time… The love she shared through the years emanated throughout my tissue and veins. As they lay together, her ear to his chest, his own strong heart beat in time with me. He was my strength, my confidant, the love of my life.

Within a few years, this love expanded into the magnificent creation of yet another life. Gwen’s baby girl, residing within the same space as me, stirred with the first flicker of humanity. If a heart could cry, then tears would have filled the world with the joyous love I discovered in the teeny, punctated palpitations calling out to me. So fast, so small, so powerful. My child-heart brought love to everyone she blessed with her swooshing vocals during hospital checkups. Though she’s tested her mother every now and then through the years, there’s no doubt I beat for her.

Alas, true awareness of what love feels like as it races through an organ is to feel its heart-wrenching opposition. As romantic love fell apart, and sorrow and disdain crept into my being, I learned to hold the love I had to keep elsewhere even more dear. With chagrin, I also learned to spend more time conversing with sister-brain before leaping so readily.

God, the kaleidoscope of love I’ve felt for delightful, momentous, and somber moments in my life. Special occasions, junctures of realization, transitions into life paths and choices, goodbyes, all of which I’ve been a constant friend to Gwen, showing her the beauty in the minute and the grand.

A nurse taps out the doctor’s discharge instructions on her computer as the cardiologist smiles down at Gwen. “Your heart is beating steady and strong today. Whatever you’re doing inside there, keep up the good work. Your daughter should be here soon. I expect to see you in three weeks for a follow up.”

Gwen sighs and I thrum with relief. We’re not ready to go anywhere. Anywhere but home to the people and places and things we intend to spend a long, long time loving.

Thump, thump, thump.